Demented
by abrynne
Summary: Warding, salt, holy water, silver - nothing works on something that is taking over the nights in London. Sam and Dean try to find a weakness to one of the darkest creatures they've ever encountered and find that they may be in over their heads this time. Yet, help, and much more may come for them, if they happen to stumble onto it.
1. It's Weird Here

"I should kick your ass for making me take that crap," Dean growled as he staggered through the airport terminal.

Sam, staying close in case of a fall, rolled his eyes to the ceiling as though asking a higher power for assistance. "It's not my fault you took the Dramamine with the entire airplane minibar."

"That's for motion sickness, Sam! I'm afraid the plane is going to crash, not that I'm gonna barf all over it!"

Dean noticed his brother's guilty expression out of the corner of his eye, and decided to push it a little more. Sam deserved it anyway. "And now, thanks to you, it's possible that I'm going to puke all over this airport."

"I got it so you could sleep for some of the flight," Sam tried to explain. "I didn't know you were planning to drown yourself at the same time."

"Drinking helps me sleep, Sam!"

Dean slowed his pace, then stopped, bracing himself against a wall as he swallowed and kept his breathing steady despite the nausea churning away in his stomach.

"Pepto?" Sam asked.

Dean held up a finger, opened his mouth to answer, then shut it quickly, keeping back a burp. He waited, holding his breath and staring at the floor.

When the sloshing in his digestive system waned a bit, he answered gruffly, "Maybe."

The pair made it to baggage claim without incident, but Dean still felt uneasy on his feet. Sam stood waiting for their luggage to appear as Dean lowered himself gently into a stiff plastic chair. It felt a little better to sit down. He released another silent belch, which gave him a bit of relief within his tormented intestines.

Maybe if he ate something? Dean cringed to himself at the very thought of food. Picturing a stacked burger, or a meat-stuffed hoagie made his insides squirm even more than they already were. Pepto might be the better option.

Dean watched blearily while Sam approached, wheeling their bags behind him, and felt a headache coming on.

"You look green," he said with concern.

"Thanks."

"Okay, you stay here and I'll go find –"

"No, let's just get out of here," Dean said. "We'll get to the hotel, and then no more traveling."

"Right," Sam said, still looking uneasily at his older brother.

Dean took his bag and followed Sam out to the pickup area, Sam having mentioned something about booking a taxi that would take them into the city.

Sure enough, they located a man standing outside a black car holding a sign that read "Winchester".

" _Eiell tahk dos. Yun getten."_

Dean stared blankly at the cabbie while a surge of panic alerted his brain. He looked at Sam who nodded and released his bag while the cabbie opened the back door of the car.

"Thanks," Sam said, folding himself into the back seat of the car. Dean hurriedly followed him. Once they were seated, the cabbie slid their bags inside at their feet.

" _Wharbuts yun cuhmminfro?"_ The driver asked once he was settled up front.

"Oh my God, I thought they spoke English here!" Dean exclaimed belligerently.

Sam kept his eyes forward. "We're from the U.S. Kansas state," he answered the driver.

"They _do_ speak English here, jackass. It's England," Sam muttered quietly. "Just pay attention, you'll get used to it."

The panic settled. Dean never wanted to go anywhere where people could say stuff to his face that he couldn't understand. It wouldn't be fair and would most likely end up with him punching somebody and getting arrested … again.

Sam began studying a map on his phone as the black taxi pulled out of the airport and onto the motorway. Dean, still feeling sick, bent over in his seat, putting his head between his knees.

"So, the hunt –" Sam paused. "The guy who called us said there have been literally hundreds of sightings of these things," he continued, keeping his voice low. "He sent me this map where they've been spotted, and it seems to center around southern England. London especially, but no one can figure out why."

Dean sat up a little, his elbows on his knees. "Well, that's why we're here isn't it?"

"Yeah, but, I don't know," Sam said uncertainly, scratching an eyebrow. "He said that they can't make head or tail of them. Nobody's seen anything like them. I brought Dad's and Bobby's journals just in case, but –"

"Sammy?" Dean said.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe let's do this after the pepto, all right?"

"Yeah," Sam said, putting his phone away.

* * *

There wasn't a notable city in the United States that Dean hadn't been through at least once; hunting a nest of vampires, or trolling cemeteries for a certain grave.

London was big, sure. There was a different look to it than most cities he'd seen. But, cities were cities to Dean. They all blurred together in his head with their wealthy areas, homeless problems, tourist attractions, and fifty Starbucks stores per square mile.

Their cab weaved its way through town, Sam peering out the window, making note of any landmark they passed - seemed like he did that every freaking half block. Dean mostly stared at the unkempt carpeted floor of the taxi, waiting until he could finally crash on a bed somewhere. A couch would do. Hell, even a floor, as long as no one tripped over him.

At long last they pulled up to a building about a block away from the riverfront. It looked like part of an apartment building, but Dean couldn't tell which was the front or the back.

"This is the hotel?"

Sam shrugged. "It's more like a bed and breakfast. We'll have to be careful about using walls for anything," he explained as he got out of the car.

"Breakfast?" Dean called after him.

Sam paid the driver while Dean attempted to straighten himself out after sitting in that cramped back seat for a half hour. His stomach didn't object to the movement, which he took as a good sign.

The pair rolled their luggage behind them in search of what they believed to be a front door to the place. Sam knocked on a little white door they found, the top of which met Dean at about eye level. He knew it was even shorter for Sam.

It opened a crack. "Please go round back. Aye thank ya." The door shut again.

"It's weird here," Dean said flatly.

"Go around back," Sam repeated, turning around.

They lumbered around the building until they were met by a little yard surrounded by a short fence. Dean glimpsed a back door amongst the flowers and foliage. The sound of it opening reached them, followed by scampering feet along pavement.

A happy round face met them at the gate along the fence.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that, boys! You'd be the Winchesters?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam replied, unable to contain his smile.

The kind-faced woman opened the gate for them, and led them through the yard to the back door. "That was my husband, ya see. He's very orderly. Likes things a certain way. But don't let that bother you. You'll be very comfortable here. Well …" Before she opened the door, she gave both brothers a hard look up and down, her neck craning a bit. "You two will probably have to bend a bit here and there so you'll fit, but I think you'll be comfortable just the same."

Mr. and Mrs. Happing owned the cozy three story building that served as a nice B&B and also their home. Mrs. Happing led the boys up two flights of stairs to what would be their room, Sam and Dean hunching over in order to fit through doorways.

The room was decent enough, although Dean would probably have to sit down in the tub to take a shower in the adjoining bathroom. Sam would have to sit down to do just about any normal human task in this place. The beds were narrow, but Dean didn't care. They were beds.

Mrs. Happing informed the boys that tea would be ready soon if they wanted something to eat.

"Anything else ya need, just give me a holler," she said with a smile.

"Actually," Sam started. "Is there a drug store or anything close by?"

"Yes, there is, but if it's medicine you're needing, I have some stocked here, if you like."

"Pepto Bismol? Something for upset stomach."

"Oh, I see. I thought something was wrong with that one. Looked a bit off colour." Mrs. Happing nodded at Dean who rubbed a hand over his face and sat down on a bed.

"Thanks a lot, Mrs. Happing," Sam said as she left.

Dean lay down and closed his eyes, while his muscles slowly relaxed. He sighed contentedly, his feet hanging over the edge of the bed.

"I don't think we fit in this country," he said.

"I know," Sam agreed. "I feel like Andre the Giant."

"Nah, he had better hair."

Dean chuckled at his own joke as Sam took off his boots.

"Can we go over stuff now? Stanley was going to meet us tonight."

"Yeah, sure."

"The only commonality I can see about the places these things have been seen is the population numbers. Small villages and towns rarely get touched by these things," Sam explained, getting out his laptop. "Looks like they hang around places that have more people."

London and its suburbs were being hit the most, and there have been casualties. Hunters have faced these creatures and were never heard from again. Those who managed to escape – hunters and civilians alike – described them as dark, cold, making no noise of any kind.

The worst part of the descriptions Sam received from Stanley was the lights going out, even flashlights, when the creatures drew near. After darkness took over, victims experienced thoughts of fear, pain. Horrible memories would return, amplified and terrible, nearly paralyzing any person in its path.

"With all of this happening, are the British Men of Letters just sitting with their thumbs up their asses? I thought they had this whole city warded."

"According to Stanley, they are … aware of the situation. Their wards aren't working. And also according to Stanley, 'they won't do a damn thing until they've finished their bloody research'."

"Meanwhile, people are dying," Dean said angrily.

"That's the thing," Sam said. "No bodies have been found. People have just gone missing."

Dean pursed his lips while he mulled everything over. The idea that this could be too big for them to handle floated across his mind. But, he and Sam have handled so much. He could never truly believe that there was something out there that the two of them couldn't take on together. That's possibly why Stanley contacted them in the first place. The Winchesters had an established reputation after all.

"Stanley knew Bobby, right?" he asked.

"Bobby came over here sometimes if there was something really big Stanley needed help with," Sam explained. "I guess Bobby gave him our number as a backup."

"So we meet him tonight, and try to gank one of these things? Sounds fun," Dean said, stretching on the bed and stifling a yawn.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed. "Everything has a weakness, right? Just a matter of finding it."

"Uh-huh."

"You get some sleep. I'll try and dig up some food."

"Sure," Dean said lazily as he rolled over, already drifting off.

When Sam woke him up, the room was dark along with the outside. Sam was ready to go, a bag of gear over his shoulder. Feeling more like himself, Dean got dressed quickly and found his jacket.

On their way out of the Happing's, Sam handed him half a sub sandwich to eat on the way. Dean's stomach growled at the aroma of roast beef and mustard and began wolfing it down as they made their way through the back gate.

Turned out that Sam booked the Happing's place on purpose, knowing it was only a short walking distance away from where Stanley wanted to meet.

Wishing he had a beer, Dean finished the last of the sandwich when they stopped at a street corner after about three blocks. Traffic wasn't very busy in the area, and there were a handful of people in sight, walking to and from the intersection, keeping quiet as if the night called for it.

"What time is it?" Dean asked.

"About 10:30."

Dean cursed.

"What?" Sam twitched around.

"I'll never get to sleep tonight now."

Sam shook his head, but didn't respond.

Diagonally across the street, a light blinked on and off, on and off. It repeated four times and stopped.

"That's us," Sam said, starting across.

"Why do I feel like we're about to rob some place?"

"Stanley's a little … twitchy. He prefers to stay hidden as much as possible."

They reached the opposite street corner, and headed across a patch of grass that led into a small playground. Stanley was found in the shrubbery on the other side.

"Sam?" he asked tentatively.

"That's me. This is my brother, Dean."

"Wotcher. Thanks to both of you for comin'," Stanley said from a crouched position behind a bush.

He beckoned the Winchesters to follow suit. Dean reluctantly sat down on the damp grass, his arms propped up on his knees.

"Have you seen anything yet?" Sam asked seriously.

"Nothin' yet. But, you just wait a bit. You'll see."

Stanley shined his flashlight in between them, the light casting odd shadows on their faces. From what Dean could tell, Stanley was older, his hair greying at the temples and along his hairline. His eyes were dark, and his skin a light caramel color, which looked yellowish in limited flashlight beam.

"It'll come here?" Dean asked.

" _They_ will."

Stanley shuddered and Dean exchanged a look with Sam, knowing exactly what the other thought. _This guy's about to lose it._

"Do you know when?"

"It varies," Stanley answered. "Thirty minutes, maybe an hour. They tend to keep hidden durin' the day. Might know they're bein' hunted, I dunno. But at night, it's hard _not_ to find them."

Dean got up on his knees and peered over the bushes. There wasn't a lot of light in the playground area, but there were street and traffic lights at the intersection they just crossed.

"They don't seem to know it, but I've noticed more and more civvies stayin' at home once the sun goes down," Stanley continued. "Like somehow they already know."

A tap of cold metal hit his hand and Dean took his gun by the grip without looking, stuffing it in the back of his pants.

"That won't work, boys," Stanley whispered. "We've tried everything. Salt, holy water, silver, iron, fire – nothing seems to work."

Dean sat back on his knees. "So, wards don't work."

Stanley shook his head.

"None of the usual stuff works."

More shaking.

"What about another creature? Demons? Angels, maybe?" Sam tried.

"Nothing else will go near them. The demon we asked –"

"Asked?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Well, dealt with, I should say," Stanley corrected. "He said that he doesn't know what they are, but the need to distance himself from it was – instinctive."

"Wonderful," Dean said, throwing his hands up. "Creature from hell with no weakness."

"We know what comes from hell, Dean," Stanley said softly. "They make me believe that there's someplace worse."

"How do you know there's a 'they'?" Sam asked. "The reports I read couldn't really describe one. Just that it was cold and –"

Stanley slapped a hand over Sam's mouth, which made Dean go for his gun. But he paused, ears pricked.

Stanley released Sam and pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes wide with fear. Together, the three of them got up just enough to look over the bushes and across the playground.

Dean felt a chill upon seeing the streetlights had gone out, leaving the area nearly pitch black. Stanley's flashlight remained on, as the chill grew colder.

Sam's breath came out in cloud of mist in front of him. The last thing Dean saw was his brother's eyes, apprehensive, before the flashlight died.

"Shit."

Something rustled next to them.

"Stanley!" Sam hissed.

The clamoring footsteps of their fellow hunter grew louder when he ran off the grass and onto the street. The flashlight came back on and Dean snatched it up when they heard a scream.

"Stanley!" Dean yelled, unconcerned about the noise.

Sam grabbed his bag and ran in the direction of the scream, Dean at his side.

" _No! No, please! Please stop. I can't take anymore. I don't know where it is!"_ Stanley sobbed.

The flashlight flickered and went out again. The two men stopped, Dean squinting up the street, believing he saw a figure there before the light went out.

Another whimper echoed around them, and another light shined faintly, blue and white, illuminating Stanley's face, his mouth gaping open and his eyes wide with terror. He didn't respond when Sam called to him. The light faded and Dean heard the unmistakable sound of a body collapsing to the ground.

The air was cold again, freezing. Dean saw Sam in front of him in broad daylight, a great wind whipping around his face, pulling at his hair and coat. Dean's heart stopped as Sam turned his back to the gaping hole in the ground, closed his eyes and spread his arms wide, like the wings of a great bird.

"NO!" Dean screamed, falling to his knees, shivering from the cold.

Tears came to his eyes when his dad smiled at him for the last time before Yellow Eyes stole his soul. "Dad! Dad stop! No, please!"

A hot orange light erupted in front of him. Dean looked up and saw Mary burning. His mother was dying. Why didn't someone do something? _Someone save her! She's screaming. Can't you see she's in pain?_

Dean's desperate thoughts took him over until he felt a cold touch on his face. "Please, please make it stop. You have to save her, please," he begged the gentle thing that held him.

Another shout from a great distance reached him. Another memory. Dean reached out and touched thin, worn fabric as a blinding white light seared his eyes. The touch was ripped away, and Dean fell to the earth. He blinked the light out of his eyes and could barely focus on a pale, glowing white figure moving gracefully toward him.

Dean laughed madly at the lovely creature until it blurred in front of him, and darkness took over.


	2. Chocolate

It was nearing midnight, and Hermione Weasley closed a window in her flat. Spring in London still managed to bring with it a small memory of winter, so she thought.

Wrapping a rose-colored shawl around her shoulders, Hermione picked up her mug of tea, and the evening edition of the Daily Prophet when something slammed straight into the window she'd just shut.

Hermione jerked backward, clutching the shawl around her and looked cautiously out the window. A snow white owl rose up from below, flapping its wings.

"Tonks!" she said with alarm. "I'm so sorry."

She pushed the window open, and the beautiful bird swooped in, landing on the back of an easy chair, a note in her beak.

"I'm sorry, girl," Hermione said, scratching Tonks' head and taking the note.

The owl softly hooted her forgiveness and flew to the perch Hermione had set up next to the fireplace, dishes of water and food sat on the mantel. Tonks drank several beakfuls of water, and nibbled at some food before she spread her wings and made for the window.

Once she was out, Hermione shut it again with some surety this time. The note in her hand, she sat in a high-backed recliner in front of the fireplace and took a sip of her tea when a popping sounded in the room.

Hermione shrieked, automatically pulling her feet off the floor, slopping tea on her shawl when three men appeared in her living room. Two of them were rather large and unconscious. The third got to his feet, wore rectangular spectacles on his nose, and appeared as if he'd just been in a high wind from the look of his dark hair.

"Harry!" Hermione jumped up, more tea sloshing. "What have you done?"

"Get off it, Hermione and help me!" Harry said, dragging the larger of the two men. "It was dementors."

Hermione rushed to a desk in the corner and produced her wand. With a short flick she levitated the larger man about a meter off the floor, allowing Harry to push him easily through the doorway and into a small sitting room, where Hermione lowered him gently down onto a sofa, his long legs flopping haphazardly over the arm.

"There was another one, but we were too late for him."

The all too familiar tingling crept up behind her eyes and nose. She covered her mouth and closed her eyes. The other man held still, hovering stationary above the floor until she composed herself, and guided him onto her bed. Hermione observed him for a moment, and covered him with a quilt before she left the room.

"That one," Harry said, pointing toward her bedroom, "was nearly gone too."

"What were they doing out there?" Hermione fretted, her hands twisting around her wand. "We've taken precautions with the muggles."

Harry shrugged helplessly and combed his fingers through his hair. It continued to stick out every which way. "It was a good idea, Hermione. Still is. But there are more of them than us. We were bound to miss some with the curfew spells."

"I know, I know," she waved away his explanation. "Where is the other one?"

"St. Mungo's. Luna took him," Harry answered. "Listen, you can't blame yourself for each one we find."

"They're already over capacity," Hermione said, her thoughts stuck on the latest victim. "The design for a permanent residence for the victims has already been approved. We just need to -"

"Hey, look at me," Harry said, placing his hands on her shoulders. "We're doing all we can. That includes you, remember?"

Hermione looked into the eyes of her best friend. They were green eyes, strangely unchanged by the things they've seen. "Thank you."

Harry nodded once before letting go. "You've put yourself in charge of too many things, if you ask me. I was surprised you were home."

" _You_ were surprised?" Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"Didn't you get my note?"

Hermione looked to the table next to her chair and picked up the untouched note. She opened it and read quickly before rolling her eyes, arms dropping to her sides.

"'I'm coming, H.'" She read aloud. "You were always so eloquent."

Harry grinned at her, looking more like the boy she met in school all those years ago. Hermione smiled and shook her head, following Harry into the sitting room. He hefted the leg of the taller one back onto the arm of the couch.

"Why didn't you bring these two to St. Mungo's as well?"

"I found this with them," Harry opened a battered-looking bag Hermione hadn't noticed earlier and revealed several guns, flasks, containers of salt and other various items.

"Hunters," Hermione whispered.

"Hunters," Harry confirmed.

Hermione sighed. The muggle hunters were supposed to have been first on the checklist because they would obviously be the first muggles to try to trap or kill the dementors. Again, she supposed it was impossible to get to all of them. Most of the hunters in Britain found themselves to be winners of expensive vacations or cruises, or just a bundle of muggle money. Most of them were out of the country already. Some gave up hunting altogether.

"Muggles hunting the supernatural," Harry shook his head. "They must be barking mad."

"It explains why they were wherever you found them."

"I had a feeling they might be dangerous. So I wanted to make sure the memory spell is a guarantee," Harry explained, folding is arms. "They get so many muggle repeats at St. Mungo's. You're the best I know, so …"

Hermione understood, but didn't believe they were dangerous, at least to other humans. If they ever found out what she and Harry truly were, then there might be trouble.

"All right. We still have to wait until –"

The pair of them jumped back as the man on the couch began to flail his extensive limbs and let out a loud scream. His eyes remained closed until he flailed too far and flung himself off of the sofa and onto the floor, face first.

More shouting followed by a string of imaginative curses filled Hermione's flat. Harry looked impressed while she cringed.

Another panicked shout erupted from the bedroom.

"I've got the other one," Hermione said and ran into her bedroom.

"Hermione!" Harry called after her. "Chocolate!"

"In the kitchen! Cupboard next to the range," she called back.

Her charge was already sitting up on the bed, his eyes half closed. He, like the other one, was grumbling and cursing, swiping the air with his hands.

"You're all right," Hermione said quickly, sitting in front of him on the bed. "Listen to me, you're safe now, you're okay."

He tried swatting at the air again and she caught his hands. "Calm down, now. You're safe, do you hear me?"

His head lolled to the side, then the other as if he didn't have the strength to hold it up. Hermione put her hands to his face, holding him steady. "Look at me, now. Do you see me?"

The hunter's eyes opened, also revealing green, but not like Harry's. These eyes were darker, and held so much behind them that she was unable to see.

"Real?" he said with difficulty.

"Yes, I'm real," Hermione reassured him. "You're going to be weak for a little while. Lie back on the bed."

He resisted her gentle push, and grabbed onto her wrists. The grip still had some strength in it, but he wouldn't be able to hold it for long.

"Look at me."

The eyes met hers again.

"No one is going to hurt you. Do you believe me?"

"Yes," he said softly.

"Lie down and rest for a while, all right?"

The hunter obeyed, releasing her wrists, and rested his head back on the bed. His eyes remained open, watching her.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Dean Winssshter," he slurred.

"Hello, Dean." Hermione resisted the impulse to take his hand as she would normally do with a friend.

A loud crash sounded in the other room. Hermione closed her eyes, searching for patience.

"Hermione!" Harry called. "We've had a bit of an accident!"

* * *

The taller one, Sam, was moved into the bedroom as well. He and Dean lay next to each other, drifting in and out, moaning weakly while Harry and Hermione cleaned up the mess in her sitting room. Apparently, Sam was a little too big and too unstable for Harry to handle by himself. ("He's really heavy!") As a result, Sam crashed into a small hutch, shattering the glass in the doors and some of the nick knacks displayed inside.

After the repairs were made, and everything was whole again, Harry and Hermione went back into the bedroom, armed with chocolate bars.

Dean was trying to sit up again, and Sam's eyes were open, looking a little more focused. Hermione automatically went to her original charge, taking him by the arm, and supporting his back.

It was Dean who touched her hand and looked fully at her this time. "You are real," he said, confirming it for himself. "Where's Sam?"

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed next to his legs, pulling her hands away. "He's right here, he'll be fine."

"You two took a good wallop," Harry said, unwrapping a chocolate bar.

"How do you feel?" Hermione asked.

"Like I'm gonna ralph," Dean replied.

"That's normal, I'm afraid."

Harry broke a piece of chocolate off and handed it to Hermione, who held it in front of Dean.

"Eat this, you'll feel better."

Dean eyed the chocolate suspiciously, then looked at Hermione. She nodded reassuringly and he took the candy, stuffing the whole piece into his mouth.

Hermione had witnessed the change chocolate can make to a dementor victim many times since the very first time she saw it in her third year at Hogwarts. Dean's was no different from the others. His shoulders relaxed and more color returned to his face as he chewed and swallowed. He met her eyes once again, this time showing amazement. Hermione smiled.

Harry gave another piece to Sam, who took it without question and ate while still lying down.

"Is that just chocolate?" Dean asked Harry.

"Well, it's milk. But that's it."

Sam then sat upright under his own power. Both of them looked much more alert, for which Hermione was grateful.

"Where's Stanley?" Sam asked, looking around the room.

Harry scratched his head, releasing a heavy sigh. "I'm really sorry mate, we were too late for him. We barely managed to get to you."

"So those things do kill," Sam concluded.

"Not exactly," Harry said hesitantly.

He glanced at Hermione, who shrugged. They were planning to wipe their memories in a few minutes so telling them anything now wouldn't do any harm.

"They're called dementors," Harry said. "They feed off of light, happiness, and joy. And if they can get close enough, they take your soul. That's what happened to your friend."

"Stanley's not dead, then," Sam said with certainty.

Hermione's eyebrows went up in mild disbelief. "Well, no he's not dead. But Stanley himself isn't Stanley anymore," she tried to explain. "His person, his memories, experiences, everything is now gone."

Sam and Dean exchanged what she thought was a knowing look.

"Are you two hunters, then?" Dean asked. "How did you beat those things?"

"Dementors," Sam said.

"Whatever! Stanley told us that people have tried but nothing works, that's why we came over here in the first place. What did you do?"

They were reaching dangerous territory. The less they were told, the easier it would be to wipe their memories. Hermione looked to her lap, knowing Harry was watching her and shook her head once.

"More chocolate," Harry said. "Trust me, it'll help."

Dean and Sam took another chunk of candy from Harry and Hermione stood. "I'll get you something to wash it down," she said excusing herself.

Out of old habit, Harry always carried his wand somewhere on his person. Hermione went back into the living room and picked up her wand. She stuffed it into the waist band of her pajamas, and got two glasses of water before going back into the bedroom.

She handed the glasses to Sam and Dean and stood at the foot of the bed. Harry was just behind her, leaning against the wall, his arms folded, and his wand most likely hidden in his sleeve.

"Listen, I'll be honest with you. There isn't a way to beat or kill a dementor," Hermione explained. Why was she so nervous? She'd wiped memories dozens of times. "We only know of a way to repel them. And that is only temporary."

"Well, how do you do that?" Sam asked earnestly. "Right now we have nothing, so anything would help."

Hermione extracted her wand slowly and easily. The two pairs of eyes watched her movement carefully. "I'm sorry," she said, fingering the thin, polished piece of wood. "The best thing is for you to forget you were ever here, that you ever saw us, or the dementors."

"That's funny," Dean said.

"You don't have the power to stop them," Harry continued. "We do."

"You don't know us," Sam replied.

The tension in the room continued to build, the two men both now had their feet on the floor, sitting on the edges of the bed.

Harry bristled. " _You_ don't know –"

"Harry, stop," Hermione said, trying to keep things civil. "I know it's hard to accept. And that you have good intentions. But trust me, there's nothing that can be done. I can't have anyone else turning out like your friend." Hermione held out her wand and brought the spell up in her mind.

Sam and Dean were so fast that Harry didn't fully have his wand out before Sam struck him hard in the jaw. Harry fell to the floor, out cold, his glasses and wand clattering down next to him.

"Harry!" Hermione cried as a firm grip pulled her wand arm behind her back.

The wand was ripped out of her hand and her arm bent back until a searing pain shot through her shoulder and elbow. She whimpered when Dean's arm came across her shoulders, pinning her to his chest.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he whispered in her ear as she struggled. "Do you believe me?"

"No."


	3. Poetic License

Harry was still out when the two American hunters tied him to a chair in the kitchen. His head drooped to one side and Hermione was beginning to get worried. Harry could have a concussion for all they knew.

Hermione, being the conscious one, had been tied up first. She struggled with the bonds made out of twine from their bag and scarves found in her closet, tying her hands and feet to the back and legs of the chair. One thing she had to give Dean and Sam credit for was their resourcefulness.

But, once Harry was secured, the two of them didn't appear to have a next step in mind. They stood close together, muttering to each other in low voices. Hermione couldn't make out the words.

"Harry?" she whispered while their captors were busy figuring out what to do.

She didn't get a response. They sat in the kitchen, next to the little square table in the corner. Her wand lay next to Harry's and his glasses on the table top. If only she could reach it.

"Oi!" she called to them angrily. "I think you hit him too hard. He did save your lives, after all."

She watched Sam and Dean look from her to Harry, then Dean glanced at Sam who shook his head.

"He did? Not you?" Dean asked. He pulled up another kitchen chair and straddled it in front of her, his arms resting on the back.

"I wasn't there," Hermione said. "Listen, Dean, there's no reason for any of this. I promised you weren't going to be hurt, and my intention was to keep that promise." She winced at the bonds around her wrists, pinching her skin.

"Really?" Sam asked. "What were you intending to do with that?" He nodded at the wands on the table.

"You were in no danger." Hermione's exasperation was at a breaking point. Dealing with stupid people exhausted her, which would explain why she was tired most of the time. She had been able to handle it better when she was younger.

"No, sister, you need to talk some more," Dean slapped at her knee to urge her on.

She glared at him. To think, just a short while ago she thought he was kind. Not to mention good-looking. Well, the good-looking part hadn't gone away. But it wasn't as striking as before.

"I was going to erase your memories of us and the dementors," she said, caving in.

"Why?"

"It's safer that way. So you wouldn't be tempted to come back and try again," Hermione said. "You and Sam are no match for them."

"But Harry is?" Dean pointed at the still unconscious and slightly drooling man next to her. A dark bruise was forming on his left cheek.

"Not just Harry, but yes."

"Wait, wait," Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "The dementors, and erasing our memories. This is sounding more and more like … have you guys read the _Harry Potter_ series? I knew I'd heard that word before."

"Oh yeah," Dean's expression lightened and he turned back to Hermione. "I saw the movies."

"There are movies?" Harry said angrily, lifting his head.

"Harry, are you all right?" Hermione asked, relieved.

Sam and Dean started at Harry's sudden wakefulness, but nodded in response to his question.

"How many?"

"Eight," Dean answered.

"Nine if you count that new one, but that's not about Harry Potter," Sam said conversationally.

"Oh right. I haven't seen that one yet," Dean said.

"Dammit, Hermione, you lied to me!" he said, completely uncaring of his trussed up situation.

The bruise on his face looked worse when he was awake. Hermione winced as he glowered at her.

"Why do you care? You haven't had anything to do with that world for years," she reasoned.

"No, thank God," Harry said angrily. "I can't believe that woman. That bloody woman!"

Sam and Dean were staring at the two of them during this exchange, their expressions frozen in confusion.

Dean's lips parted and his eyes flicked uncertainly in between them until he decided to settle on Hermione again. Probably because she had been cooperating. "What bloody woman?"

"Rowling," Harry said darkly.

"Rowling," Hermione answered at the same time.

Sam rubbed a hand from the top of his head down his face and grabbed the fourth chair, sitting it next to Dean's.

"Are you guys saying," he said, carefully choosing his words, "that all that wizard stuff is real, and that you two are _the_ Harry and Hermione?"

"Well, we're in it now," Harry said smiling coldly. "If my kids ever find out about this –"

"Shut up, Harry," Hermione said wearily. "Everything is not about you."

"Those bloody books and movies are!"

"Oh, hardly," Hermione countered, then looked at Sam and Dean who were still gaping at them. "J. K. Rowling accidentally made her way into the wizarding world, much like you two did earlier tonight. She was attacked by something. What was it, Harry?"

"Wish it had been a Skrewt, then it probably would've killed her."

Hermione gave up on him and continued. "It was Lockhart who saved her by accident."

"Yeah, and leave it to him to muck up even a memory charm," Harry grumbled.

"There are some theories that she's descended from a squib, but that's never been proven. And I don't know all the details, because it was a little before my time, but somehow she got the story about Tom Riddle, and the Death Eaters, and of course Harry Potter out of Gilderoy."

Hermione took a breath. "May I have some water, please?"

Sam leaped up and opened cupboards until he found the glasses. He handed one to Dean, and kept one for Harry. Dean, pressed the glass to her lips and tipped it up until water ran down her chin.

"Sorry," he said, and attempted a slower approach the second time.

Hermione gulped it down gratefully and shook her head when he offered more.

"It was a long time before anyone realized what Lockhart was doing," Harry said, giving Hermione a break. "He was taking bribes from Rowling for more and more details on our world until he was caught one day, sending owls to a muggle address."

"I thought it was blackmail," Hermione wondered aloud.

"Well, whatever. She's a piece of work," Harry concluded.

"By that time, she had books and documents on several different subjects about us and our history," he went on.

"Lockhart eventually lost his memory –"

"Which was his own blasted fault!" Harry shouted.

"And any communication from Rowling was blocked," Hermione said. "Ever since then, the Ministry has kept watch in case she tries to reenter our world."

"Right," Dean said flatly. "Okay then why didn't you guys go and erase her memory for real?"

"No one could find her," Hermione explained. "The theory is that she keeps some sort of magical object with her, given to her by –"

"Or stolen from," Harry interjected.

"- Lockhart of course, and it blocks any type of searching or locating spells. It's too late now, anyway."

Sam and Dean looked at each other in the silence that followed. They both smiled broadly. Hermione's normally sharp mind was numbed, it was such a pretty thing to see. Sam laughed and shook his head, his long hair flopping around his face.

"That's just amazing," Dean said, still smiling. "Sam and me, we're muggles, right? So we shouldn't even know you guys exist. Imagine the publicity."

"I know," Sam said. "The _real_ Harry Potter. And he's actually a wizard."

They didn't believe it. Hermione wasn't surprised. It was deemed too much of a risk to break into the publishers, erase the memories of everyone in the building, _and_ destroy the manuscripts. And no one underestimated Rowling enough to think that she wouldn't have taken precautions in case of such an operation. So, the story goes that when the first book was published, the officials of the wizarding world held their collective breath. But, nothing happened.

Yes there were a few incidents of idiotic people ramming their heads in between platforms 9 and 10 at King's Cross, but other than that, there weren't really any repercussions to actual wizards and witches. Unless if you counted the fact that muggles across the world celebrated Harry's birthday on the wrong day every year. In the end, the muggles took it as fantasy.

Harry's face was reddening, and that familiar vein Hermione never told him about was popping out of his forehead next to the faded scar.

Dean got up and took Hermione's wand off the table. "So you were going to erase our memories with this, right?" he said, playing it in between his fingers.

Harry and Hermione cringed and moved their heads out of the way of the wand's business end as it bounced around in all directions. There was no telling what would happen. It might not like being handled by a muggle moron.

When Dean pointed it at an angle to the floor, hot white and blue sparks exploded out of it, burning welts into the kitchen tile. Dean released a high pitched scream, his body gyrating in one ungraceful movement.

When the sparks faded, Harry was smiling smugly, the room smelling of singed atmosphere. Dean gingerly set the wand back on the table, touching as little of it as possible.

"Some fireworks or something in that thing," he mumbled.

Sam's expression, however, had changed. The smile was gone, and he studied Harry and Hermione intently before he spoke again.

"Dean, it wouldn't be the first time we've run into this," he said seriously. "And nothing else explains what happened to Stanley and to us."

"Come on!" Dean protested. "Wizards," he said gesturing to Harry, "and witches that aren't gross?"

"Thanks," Hermione said.

"We've run into stranger things than wizards."

"Where have they been this whole time, then?" Dean demanded. "They're supposed to be all over the world. Why didn't they help us when it was close to ending half a dozen times?"

"We do not involve ourselves in muggle affairs," Hermione spoke as if she were reading from a manual. "However," her dark eyes locked onto Dean's, "if things were that desperate, I'm very certain that you did have help. Unseen, perhaps."

"There's also _The Wizard of Oz_ ," Sam said plainly, folding his impressive arms across his equally impressive chest.

"So what are you saying?" Dean snapped at Sam. "All books and movies are based on real things now?"

"Yeah, right, because _Lord of the Rings_ really happened, Dean," Sam said sardonically.

Hermione met Sam's eyes as he raised his eyebrows, silently questioning her. She shrugged and shook her head innocently.

Dean's shoulders sagged in defeat and he shot a look at Harry, who sat up straighter. "Did you really defeat a Dark Lord?"

"I really hope that woman ends up in hell," Harry said wistfully.

"Man, don't ever wish that on anyone, all right?" Dean said seriously.

Just then, something slammed into something else in Hermione's living room. Sam and Dean jerked around in response to the sound, nearly giving themselves whiplash.

"Don't worry. It's Tonks," Harry said. "Ginny's probably wondering where I am."

Sam looked back around, his face puzzled. "It's been a while, but … isn't she dead?"

"I hate this," Harry said glumly.

"It's his owl. Go open the window in there, you'll see," Hermione encouraged.

Obviously the more curious of the two, Sam went out of the room. They heard the window unlatch and the soft flapping of wings as Tonks flew in past Dean and landed on Harry's shoulder, another note held in her beak.

Dean swore as the bird landed and Sam came back in.

"Owl post," he said with a small grin.

"Shut up," Dean replied.

"Take the note from her," Harry instructed.

Sam obeyed, carefully pulling the note out of Tonks' beak. She gave him a lazy nip on his finger and flew out. Sam held the note and looked in between Hermione and Harry. Setting the note on the counter, Sam crouched down next to Harry's chair and began untying the bonds around his legs.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Dean asked.

"I'm letting them go, Dean. They won't hurt us. They're just following their laws."

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief and laughed. "That's precisely what I've been saying all along."

Dean chewed his tongue for a moment, his eyes on Harry more than her. He went to the table first and picked up their wands.

"What are –?"

"I'm taking my own precautions," he said calmly, putting the wands inside his jacket. "I don't want anyone erasing my memory without my say so first."

Hermione was about to protest, but stopped herself. This may still end peacefully if she went along with whatever they wanted first. Sam seemed to understand, at least. Dean would take a little more convincing.

Her ankles and feet started tingling with the blood rushing back into them as Dean untied her.

"How accurate are they? The books," Dean asked, skepticism still in his voice. "I mean, did bitchy over there really beat a Lord of all Evil?"

"No one ever called him a 'Dark Lord'," Harry said, making air quotes with his now free hands. "Or that other name, Lord Moldyvort or whatever."

Dean snorted as he started on her wrists and Hermione smiled.

"Rowling lost her access to what was really happening, so a lot of what you've seen or read has been stretched, or simply made up," she said.

"Seriously," Harry said. "Can you imagine some evil bloke taking days to come up with the perfect evil name that fits that sentence 'I am Lord Moldyvort'? Riddle was never so dramatic.

"And the Horcruxes! Merlin's pants, the horcruxes!" Harry went on, his hands gesturing this way and that.

Hermione remained in the chair next to him, even after she was freed. Harry never had a chance to rant like this to anyone. So, she decided she'd let him go for a little while. Sam and Dean, unable to curb their curiosity sat back down as well, and listened.

"So Riddle really did split his soul?" Sam asked eagerly.

"How did Rowling know that part?"

"They knew about the horcruxes early on," Hermione answered. "Rowling left it for a big reveal in the series, but that's not how it was."

Truthfully, Hermione made frequent trips into muggle bookshops for leisurely reading material. Like the days her mum took her to the library when she was a child, before Hogwarts. As a result of those trips, Hermione had read the entire series as the books were released. Harry had tried, but he couldn't stand it after the third one.

She remembered the horcruxes. The _real_ horcruxes. Riddle hiding them in special, unique objects was laughable. He never wanted them to be found. So he used the most ordinary things he could find in which to hide the bits of his soul: people. She worked with Harry for so long on trying to find them. Everyone did.

"It took years to find them all," Harry was saying. "And he didn't know about me, because mine was an accident, of course. Not until it was too late. I didn't face the mortal Riddle until I was in my twenties."

"What did you do, when you really faced him?" Sam asked nearly appearing as an enraptured little boy during story time.

Harry looked at Hermione incredulously, then back at Sam.

"I killed him," he said simply.

"I like that better," Dean said.

"I'm so delighted for you," Harry's eyes narrowed.

"That's enough, all of you," Hermione said, getting to her feet. Her legs wobbled a little as she put her weight on them, but she remained upright. "Harry, you should look at that letter."

Sam and Dean stood with her, towering over her like great denim-clad sentinels.

"So," she said, taking a step back from them to keep from getting a crick in her neck. "What shall we do now?"

Dean's eyes lit up. "I kind of have an idea about that."

* * *

Note: I have absolutely nothing against J. K. Rowling or her work. The books and movies of _Harry Potter_ are real in the Supernatural universe. And in order for it to work with the HP universe, the books and movies would have to be a real thing in both. If that makes any sense.


	4. Cage

Note: I'm so sorry, I accidentally left a chunk of the chapter out when I uploaded it to the website. So I had to delete the chapter and add it again.  
Again, my apologies!

* * *

The strangely matched group talked into the early hours of the morning until Tonks arrived again with a more sternly written note from Ginny.

With all of them fatigued and the sun due to show up in a couple of hours, it was decided that nothing could be done until the following night. Harry then went home, vanishing from Hermione's flat with a pop. The Winchesters – brothers, as Hermione eventually found out – were becoming accustomed to magic as they only twitched a little when Harry disappeared.

The room at the Happing's bed and breakfast lay dark, quiet, and still until a faint pop preceded the arrival of three people, suddenly appearing into the room.

Dean and Sam let go of Hermione and staggered, trying to regain their footing.

"It takes a little getting used to," Hermione explained. "It's best if you sit down." She tried getting a hold of both men and leading them to the beds.

Sam managed to find one on his own and lowered himself slowly onto it. Dean needed a little more help. Hermione took his arm and guided him over, pushing him down until he sat on the mattress.

Her first time apparating was very similar. She was dizzy for at least an hour afterwards.

"Breathe deeply," she instructed, sitting down next to Dean. "You don't have to do this, you know," she said after a moment.

"We made a deal," Dean protested, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing hard.

"I understand, and I intend to keep my end of it. But I wanted to give you another chance."

Sam glanced up. His face was flushed, but he looked a little more stable than a few minutes ago. "Chance for what?"

"To –" Hermione hesitated. She didn't want to use the word 'forget' just yet. "To be free of all of this. You could wake up tomorrow, have a pleasant little holiday, and return home, no harm done."

"There's already been plenty of that going around," Dean said gruffly.

"Yes, but it's not your fight, Dean. This is our responsibility. We let it get out of hand." Hermione took a sharp breath in attempt to retain her control, and blinked at the moisture coming to her eyes.

"How did all of these things get out anyway?" Dean asked. "You guys used them for something, right?"

"To guard the prison?" Sam guessed. "Or did she get that wrong too?"

"No, that part is true. We used the dementors to guard Azkaban," Hermione said with a nod. "It was an enormous mistake. But we learned that too late and we paid dearly for it."

Her hands began to shake in her lap and she clasped them together to keep them steady. She lowered her eyes as she spoke, unable to look at anything, uncertain if she could go on.

The Winchesters waited patiently. She felt Dean move a little closer, but hesitate in touching her. "Are you okay?" he asked instead.

Hermione breathed once more before meeting his eyes. The best she could muster was a sad smile and a nod before she spoke again.

"It was when Riddle's followers escaped from Azkaban. That should have been the first sign. They encouraged the dementors to obey them and Riddle, promising them more abundant prey in return. We should have realized it then."

She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat while Sam and Dean waited. "Azkaban wasn't satisfying for them anymore. They stayed there at first, after everything was over. But more and more left over the years and we started getting reports of them being seen in villages and towns. People started to go missing. We had lost control."

Hermione's lack of sleep that night was curbing her ability to think straight, and bringing more emotion than usual up to the surface.

"You lost someone," Sam said quietly.

Hot tears ran down her cheeks and Hermione nodded, keeping her eyes on her lap when a box of tissues came into view. She took a few and thanked them sloppily.

Wiping her face, Hermione cleared her throat. "My husband. He's at St. Mungo's now."

"I'm sorry," Dean said, placing his hand over hers.

"My poor Ron," she said. "He was caught off his guard, alone and overcome. Took us days to find him. I – I should have been with him."

She breathed for a minute, calming her nerves, and looked at the two of them. "You need to know that about me, I think. That's why I'm so desperate to find a solution to this. I shouldn't even be talking about this with you. I can't imagine what they'd say at the Ministry," she laughed a little. "But I'm willing to try anything, and that includes this plan of yours."

"We'll get them, H," Dean said determinedly. "Do you mind if I call you, H? Makes it a little easier."

"For him to remember," Sam said, his lips twitching upwards.

"No, I don't mind," Hermione smiled, feeling a little better. "But, I have to tell you again that this is a mad idea."

Dean shrugged. "Insanity is our usual area of expertise."

Hermione turned her unconvinced expression to Sam who mirrored Dean's shrug and nodded.

"One chance," she said.

"And if it doesn't work, you do that little witchy thing you do and Sam and I won't be any the wiser," Dean said, repeating their agreement.

"I suggest we get some sleep," Sam said, already pulling the sheets down on his bed.

Hermione stood with Dean beside her, their hands slipping apart.

"Until tomorrow, then." she moved her wand around in a half circle, and the room vanished.

* * *

Hermione slept until early afternoon that day. She couldn't remember sleeping like that for a long time. It felt good, but made it difficult to get out of bed.

She immediately went to her bookshelves and began pulling down volumes about experimental spells and potions, impregnating objects with magic, and dark creatures. After making herself some late breakfast, she began to read and didn't stop for several hours until Harry appeared in her living room, this time without two unconscious men in tow.

"Have you found anything?" he asked.

Hermione sat back from the open volumes spread across her desk and rubbed her eyes. "Harry, you can't simply pop into my home whenever you like."

"Works wonders with my kids," Harry reasoned. "They never know when Dad's going to pop up suddenly and catch them."

"You can't apparate into Hogwarts," Hermione said for what she thought was the millionth time.

"Neville's gotten me in before."

"That's a bit unfair. You never had anyone checking on you at school."

Harry took a seat next to her on the sofa and leaned forward, putting two fingers to his temple. "I'll wait here while you think about that for a minute."

Hermione couldn't conceal her laughter. She, Harry, and Ron got up to things in their school days that, if she thought on them now, were absolutely bonkers. They definitely should have had people checking up on them. If the Hogwarts staff had thought on it more, they would have locked the three of them up somewhere, only letting them out for classes and perhaps the toilet once in a while.

Harry leaned back in his seat and grinned. "It's good to see you laugh, Hermione."

"It feels good too, thanks. Have you gotten everything?"

"Everything is set. They're waiting for me to get you."

Hermione nodded and went to find her shoes. Harry followed her into her bedroom and leaned against the door frame.

"Do you think that maybe we should just … make them forget this entire thing?" he asked seriously.

"I don't want to stop them from helping now," Hermione said, looking for a pair of socks. "It may work, their plan."

" _His_ plan," Harry specified.

"Fine, Dean's plan," she agreed. "Haven't you seen it, Harry? They seem to really want to help, like the other hunters we've met. Protecting people is all they do. Generally, most muggles don't seem that way."

Harry nodded in agreement when she found her shoes.

"We are going to have to erase their memories, Hermione," Harry said sternly. It was a tone of voice she heard from him only when addressing his children when they misbehaved.

She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. "Why are you stating the obvious?"

Harry sighed, scratching the back of his head in attempt to appear nonchalant. He was never good at that. "Right, I just noticed something last night, and I was a bit … concerned."

Hermione, shoes on, stood and folded her arms defensively. "Yes?"

"You and Dean," Harry said, failing at finding the right words.

"Oh, Harry, go on and spit it out!"

"See, I was trying to keep you from shouting at me, but that never works. I just noticed the way you were looking at each other. I haven't seen you look at someone like that since – well, for a long time."

"You think I'm attracted to the man who tied me up last night?" Hermione said huffily.

"Not _because_ of that, no."

Hermione opened her mouth to argue further, but there wouldn't be a point. Harry had become really protective of her since Ron was attacked. At times, she would say overly protective. This was just another sample of that. Dean Winchester was attractive, there was no denying it. But, she'd only just met him; and he would be forgetting her soon enough.

Instead, Hermione closed her mouth and put her hair up in a ponytail. She grabbed her jacket and her wand, and stood close to him.

"Harry, let's go before I hex you."

* * *

They arrived in an empty warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It was old and dirty from years of neglect, Hermione concluded.

"Hey, H," Dean said when he saw her.

"Hello, Dean." Hermione, with Harry's suspicions in her head, did her best not to look at him too much.

"So, what do you think?" Sam stepped around a large structure in the center of the warehouse floor.

It was a large hexagon, made out of metal polls in each corner, connected by chain link fence at least twelve meters high. Above it was a flat sheet of metal cut into the shape of the hexagonal cage hanging from a thick chain which was attached to one of the cement beams in the ceiling.

"If and when we get one of our guys in here, we bring that down on top," Sam explained, pointing to the metal sheet. "With your magic, it should work as a holding cell."

"Temporarily, anyway," Harry said.

"Right," Hermione said, studying the contraption. "What's your plan on luring one of them in here?"

"That's the dangerous part," Sam continued.

"Yeah, the _only_ one," Dean said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Dean and I have some ideas to help, but to guarantee one of them going in, we have to have at least one person inside."

Hermione laughed disdainfully and looked at Harry, who wasn't laughing.

Her smile dropped off of her face when she realized who was planning to be the bait. "No, no, no," she said, shaking her head. "It has to be one of us, and it should be me, Harry. You have a worse reaction to the dementors than most people."

"I don't know," Harry said quietly. "I think I used to have. Not anymore, though." He looked at her significantly with those bright green eyes and she understood.

A thrill of fear rushed through her at the thought of what she might be forced to see if a dementor came close. Usually, when she went out on patrols, she managed to keep a short distance away from the creatures and work the patronus charm without having to be affected too much. In this case, that wouldn't be an option.

Harry must have seen the fear in her eyes because he nodded and looked away, the decision made. "Your job is much more important anyway," he said, gesturing to the makeshift cage they'd built.

Hermione nodded and produced her wand. "This may take a number of tries before I can find the right combination."

"No problem, you've got this," Dean encouraged.

Hermione tried to bring the spells up in her mind, but they jumbled together and she couldn't straighten them out. They were still new to her.

Approaching a section of the fence, she placed the tip of her wand against a single piece of metal.

" _Lychnus patronum cuonom,_ " she muttered.

Her wand lit up brightly in response to the spell, and a thin ribbon of light wrapped itself around the section of metal as Hermione drew her wand tip along the link. But as her wand moved further away from the first point, the light faded and disappeared, leaving the ordinary chain link still ordinary.

"You nearly had it. Keep going." Harry had moved close to her as she worked.

Hermione nodded and attempted another combination of the words, which gave less of a result than the first time.

She stood up, her mind going through the problem as she tapped her wand in her hand and stared at the fence. "I think I'm missing something. It worked the first time."

"Did it?" Harry asked, raising his dark brows.

"Oh yes. It just wouldn't keep for very long. I need something … to strengthen it. To reinforce it."

Hermione thought for another few seconds and made her third attempt.

" _Vinculi lychnus patronum cuonom vinculi,_ " she spoke the words, trying to keep her thoughts on joyful, happy things. It was extremely difficult.

A thin sheen of sweat developed on her forehead as she worked. She thought of her wedding. Harry and Ginny stood next to her and Ron, muttering jokes under their breath in attempt to make them laugh out loud during the ceremony. Mrs. Weasley would have had a fit.

Hermione smiled, and her wand tip brightened as she drew it along the chain link, muttering the spell over and over again. In the wake of her wand, the link continued to glow with the white ribbons of light wrapped tightly around it.

After she'd done a small section, Hermione stopped just to breathe. She wiped her forehead with her sleeve and observed her work. The spell was holding.

"Well done," Harry said. "We need to do the entire cage."

Hermione laughed a little as she took in the whole contraption. It suddenly seemed a lot bigger than before.

Sam approached the glowing section of the fence, putting his hand close to it and pulling it away quickly. "It's hot. Almost like pure light. That's amazing," he said in awe.

"What can we do to help?" Dean asked

"I'm sorry, Dean. Harry and I have to do this. It will just take some time," Hermione said. Seeing his disappointment, she touched his arm to reassure him.

It took Harry more than a few tries to get the spell right, but once he managed it, he and Hermione started at the same point where she experimented, and moved around the cage in opposite directions. The susurration of their muttering the spell over and over was the only sound in the place for at least an hour.

Sam and Dean set up ladders and moved them accordingly for Harry and Hermione to reach the top section of the cage.

When it was done, and the top was lowered, creating a makeshift ceiling on the cage, the magic clung onto the edges of the top and spread up until the entire contraption glowed and sparkled as though it were made of diamonds.

It dazzled and shined as all four of them stared at it. Harry and Hermione staggered over to a corner and sat down to rest while Dean and Sam continued to admire the work.

"That's pretty awesome," Dean said.

"We need to disguise it, right?" Sam asked. "A dementor won't go near this thing now."

Hermione nodded and Harry got up. "Concealment charm should do it."

"I really hope so," Hermione said and laughed.

Harry reached down to her. She took his hand and he pulled her back to her feet.

Once more, Hermione and Harry walked around the cage, working spells of concealment until the faintest glow of light was gone and the warehouse went dark around them.

The sun had set some time ago, the small windows showing nothing but a blanket of darkness outside.

Dean turned on a torch as Hermione lit the tip of her wand.

"We ready to go?"

Hermione believed they'd never really be ready for what they were about to attempt, but she nodded.


	5. Dark and Light

Torches in hand, Sam and Dean went to work, opening every entrance into the place they could find.

Hermione approached Dean as he was fiddling with something in his hand. "What's your plan to lure it in?" she asked.

"They come when they know people are around, right?" Dean asked as he tapped at a small device in his hand.

"Usually," Hermione answered.

"Well, we're going to make some noise, so they can't ignore us." He winked and Hermione felt a little color come to her face and neck.

The screen on the device Dean held began to flicker and fragment. "What the hell?" He said, frustrated, smacking at the device.

"I think that's me. I'm sorry," she said. "Muggle electronics go on the fritz when exposed to magic."

Dean looked at her fully as he chewed on his lip. His features put into sharp relief in her wand light.

"If we set it up outside, would your stuff still mess with it?" he asked.

"Might be less of a problem," Hermione guessed. "The cage is probably responsible for most of it."

"Yeah, but whatever you did worked, you can't even feel the heat from it anymore," Dean said, impressed as he stepped outside.

Hermione followed into the darkness, her wand light reflecting white off of Dean's back. They stood about half a dozen meters outside of the warehouse in a car park. The nearest light was a street lamp that glowed a good distance away from where they stood. Aside from that, the only light was the first quarter of the moon shining in the sky.

"What do you mean by 'make some noise'?" Hermione asked, her voice close to a whisper.

Dean's eyes were on the device again, which still flickered. He turned to Hermione, his eyes bright in her wand light. He looked at her wand, then back at her and she understood.

Hermione put her wand out, and stowed it in the waist band of her jeans. Now the screen on Dean's device lit up as he accessed a list of things Hermione didn't recognize. There were titles with strange names attached to them.

"What is 'Van Halen'?" she inquired curiously.

She couldn't quite see Dean's expression in the dull light from his device, but she had a feeling that it was close to dumbfounded.

"Right," he said slowly. "You guys have different music, don't you?"

"It's music? I'd like to hear some of it," Hermione said with interest. "We only touched a little on muggle music when I was at school. It was mostly what you would consider the classics, too. None of the modern stuff, really."

"That is a damn shame, H," Dean looked deeply saddened by her statement. "Van Halen – well, he's a guy, two guys actually - brothers. The band is named after them."

Hermione nodded in comprehension as someone approached them.

"You'll hear it in a minute."

Hermione's eyes were adjusting more to the dark, because she saw Dean smile at her.

"We're setting up out here?" Sam asked. He set down two large, black, rectangular boxes next to where they were standing, and a little fold up table.

"Yeah," Dean answered. "Magic messes with our stuff."

Sam shrugged and set up the table a short distance away from them. He placed one of the boxes on its end so it stood vertically on the table top. He did the same with the other, spacing them apart a bit, and positioning them so they pointed outwards at opposite angles.

"Everything should work. Do you have it hooked up?"

"Hang on, hang on," Dean continued to tap at the device.

"You're not going to play Asia, are you?" Sam asked with dread.

Dean chuckled. "Come on, Sammy. You love Asia. But, I was thinking more of some Janet Jackson. I'm in a mood. You know I can't stop it when I'm in a _mood_ ," he said meaningfully.

Sam pursed his lips as he shook his head. Hermione laughed without knowing exactly what they were talking about. It didn't seem to matter much.

"You keep saying it, and I'll have it put on your gravestone," Sam replied. "'Here lies Dean Winchester: He loved Janet Jackson.'"

"You do that," Dean nodded calmly. "And I'll come out of hell and kick your ass."

Sam laughed as he continued fiddling with the black boxes.

"He's been using the gravestone threat lately," Dean muttered to Hermione. "I don't know what that's about."

"You two grew up together?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, just us and dad," Dean said lightly.

Hermione remembered wishing when she was younger that she had a close sibling. Being an only child got really lonely sometimes. That's why she delved so deeply into books when she was a girl. They were her company until she started school. Then, she was able to build a little family of siblings of her own.

"It's good to have someone like that around," she said. "Someone who will be there, even when you're not at your best."

"Nothing's more important than family," Dean said automatically.

"Blood or otherwise."

"I think I've got it," Dean said. "Turn it up, Sammy."

Hermione watched as Sam turned a small knob on one of the boxes and Dean tapped his device once more.

The music blared out of the boxes into the night sky. Hermione ducked a little at the shock of the sound and slowly stood upright as she became accustomed to it.

 _Jump back, what's that sound_

 _Here she comes, full blast and top down_

 _Hot shoe, burnin' down the avenue_

 _Model citizen zero discipline_

Van Halen blared throughout the car park in a raucous melody that took Hermione a little while to pinpoint. Dean jerked his head back and forth to the beat, placing the device in his pocket. Sam was standing in place, doing the same, bobbing his head to the music.

Hermione laughed. It was strange music, but somehow, it made her feel light, free. She started moving to the beat with them, her legs and feet taking small steps on the tarmac.

Harry came out at the noise, his wand still lit when Hermione felt someone take her hand.

Dean pulled her to him, grabbing both of her hands, and started to lead her in a makeshift dance as he sang the words along with the song.

"Panama!"

Dean pulled her close, then pushed her away in a spin, turning her arm over her head. Hermione continued to giggle, as they danced around the car park. She started out stiffly, feeling Harry watching her. But Dean made it easier as he led her around. After the first chorus, Hermione loosened up and moved with the music, laughing as she stumbled.

In spite of what they had come to do, she was happy. It had been a long, long time since she felt anything close to that.

"What do you think?" Dean shouted over the noise as he spun her around again.

Wizards did have their own music. Some of it could be considered similar to what they were listening to, but the sound as a whole was different from anything she'd heard before.

Hermione grinned. "I like it."

The song ended, and everything seemed normal, still.

"Turn it up, Sam!" Dean said much too loudly, still holding onto Hermione's hand.

Sam obeyed as the next song started.

 _Oh, here it comes_

 _That funny feeling again_

 _Winding me up inside_

 _Every time we touch_

 _Hey I don't know_

 _Oh, tell me where to begin_

 _Cause I never ever_

 _Felt so much_

The tempo to this one was a little slower, yet remained fun and energetic.

Hermione let Dean take her up again. This time, he held her closer to a ballroom stance, although he didn't do it quite right. She rested her hand on his arm as he held onto her other hand and her back, and spun them around. He moved her around this way and that, without any real type of coordinated dance step.

"'It's got what it takes'," Dean sang. "'So why can't this be love?'"

She heard Sam laughing at them as they staggered around together to Dean's questionable lead.

Hermione had forgotten what it was like, to be held by a man; to feel him close to her, moving with her. She didn't realize how much she missed it until Dean held her as he did. He was strong, but gentle with her. It was almost as if she could hide there if he put his arms tightly around her.

The music seemed to fade as she looked up at him. Their awkward dance slowed until they simply swayed from side to side, and Dean met her eyes. He held onto her while they watched each other. Hermione couldn't force herself to look away, the pull she suddenly felt toward him growing more and more powerful. Her hand moved up his arm as Dean's face slackened and he brushed a stray hair off of her cheek with his fingertips.

" _Hey!_ " Sam was shouting.

The bubble burst. Hermione and Dean released each other and looked at Sam, who pointed at the distant streetlight. It flickered and died.

Their music still played, but it wouldn't for long.

"Showtime," Dean said.

Hermione nodded and ran to Harry, who stood in the doorway to the warehouse. They went inside and Hermione whipped out her wand. She was somehow breathless and her cheeks felt warm to the touch.

"You know," Harry said, feeling around the general area of the cage, "it might have been easier if we concealed this thing after I was inside it."

Hermione flicked her wand and the gate the Winchesters built into the cage opened, smacking into Harry.

"Found it," Harry said, rubbing his shoulder. He held onto the door, which remained invisible. So it appeared that he wasn't touching anything at all.

Harry stepped inside while Hermione grabbed the door. "Are you all right doing this?"

"I am _loving_ doing this," Harry said with delight, and stepped closer to her as he lowered his voice. "You know, we could keep this thing up so you and Dean could use it later. No one would see a thing."

He waggled his eyebrows and Hermione thwacked him on the arm with the back of her hand. "Just get in there, and I _may_ let you out after."

She shut the door, but didn't lock it as the Winchesters entered.

"Ready?" Sam asked.

"Absolutely not," Hermione replied. The happiness she felt just a moment before was replaced by nervous anxiety.

The music still played outside while they waited. After another minute it died, cutting Van Halen off in the middle of the second chorus. They were left in a silence that grew colder and colder with every second.

"Harry," Hermione whispered. "Make some noise."

"Oi!" Harry shouted. "Come on over here, you dirty, cloaked git! I'm so bloody happy that I'm going to explode all over you, then you'll have to suck the joy out of my left over bits!"

" _Harry!_ " Hermione hissed while Sam and Dean concealed their laughter.

Hermione felt a pull on her arm and backed around the cage with the Winchesters so they wouldn't be seen from any of the entrances. She lit her wand and watched as Sam and Dean both produced bludgeoning types of weapons. Sam held a thick metal pipe while Dean held what looked like a cricket bat.

He noticed her stare at the bat and shrugged. "I couldn't find a baseball bat," he uttered.

"Hermione," Sam whispered. "You have to tell us when you see it. We can only feel them when they're close."

Hermione nodded as Harry continued with his imaginary tirade.

"I'm right over here, you idiot! The most joyful man on the planet, that's me! Come and get me!"

Hermione's breath began to hang as mist in front of her. She shivered, pulling her jacket closer to her and peered around the side of the cage.

"I think we've attracted more than we bargained for," she said.

Three dementors entered the warehouse, gliding along the floor without a hint of a sound to their approach. Harry's shouts lessened as he felt them coming as well.

Another dementor entered on the far side. They now had four to deal with.

"Harry, keep shouting," she said into the cage.

"There are four of them," she said to Sam and Dean, who appeared to clench up at her news. "One is a little separated from the other three. You two, run out to the right. Try and get them out of the building. I'll be right behind you to get rid of them once we're sure the Harry's got the other one."

"I'm right here," Harry laughed maniacally. "Come and get me, you mouth breather!"

"Bait," Dean said with a groan. "Fantastic."

"Go!" Hermione said.

"Come and get us you bastards!" Dean yelled. He and Sam banged their weapons against any surface they could find as they ran out of the warehouse.

"I'm still waiting for you! I might change my mind if you don't come over here, you little bugger!" Harry shouted.

Hermione watched as all four dementors paused. Sam and Dean ran right by the group, which swiftly turned and made after them. The single one continued its path toward the cage.

"It's coming, Harry, keep going," Hermione said as she ran after the Winchesters.

Sam and Dean were running and across the car park with the dementors gaining on them.

"Are they even behind us?" Sam asked.

"How in the hell should I know?" Dean shouted. "Holy _shit!_ shit, Shit, SHIT!" Dean continued to curse loudly as they ran at full speed.

Quickly searching for a happy thought, her mind settled on the most recent one. With Dean's smile and his touch in her head Hermione pointed her wand. " _Expecto patronum!"_

A blinding white light erupted from the tip of her wand and glowed over the car park, making toward the dementors. The light gently formed into a large cat, bounding after them, and circling protectively around Sam and Dean as they completed their circuit and headed back toward Hermione.

More cursing came from the both of them as they saw the result of her spell. The dementors scattered, melting into the shadows around the lot. The streetlight came back to life when Sam and Dean reached her.

The white, glowing cat nuzzled at her hip when it reached her and they heard the slamming of the gate to the cage.

They ran inside as Harry bellowed the same spell. Hermione waved her wand, quickly removing the concealment spells and the cage burned brightly, dazzling their eyes.

Dean and Sam rushed to the gate as Harry's patronus pranced around the interior of the cage, protecting him from the creature now trapped inside.

They ripped the gate open and Sam grabbed onto Harry's shirt, yanking him hard out of the doorway before Dean slammed it shut and locked it. Harry, lying on the floor, gasping for breath, pointed his wand at the gate and magically sealed it as well. He collapsed onto his back after it was done, breathing hard.

Hermione's hands were on her head as she stared in disbelief at what they just managed to accomplish. Sam and Dean whooped and high fived each other while Harry looked like he was ready to pass out.

Harry's patronus was still strong, moving gracefully around the interior of the cage. It's light glowing upon the creature that stood still in the center of its prison. Hermione's padded around the exterior, keeping a close watch.

Hermione approached the glowing meshwork. She watched the dementor. Now that it was surrounded by light, she could see it properly for the first time. The cloak that surrounded it was long and thick, but tattered and worn. Its hood still concealed its face. Even in such bright light the shadow of the hood was impenetrable.

Dean approached her and watched for a moment with her while Sam helped Harry to his feet.

"The dark makes everything scarier," Dean said.

"You can see it?" Hermione said once she realized what he meant.

"I'm not really sure. I can see the lights reflecting off of something in there. Sometimes I can see a head, but that's about it."

"It's cloaked," Hermione said. "The head is the only real shape to it."

"What's it doing?" he asked as Sam approached and Harry staggered next to them.

"It's just standing there, keeping vey still."

"It's got nowhere to go," Dean said with satisfaction.

"Serves it right," Harry said, determinedly standing under his own power again.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked, putting her arm around him.

He leaned a little into her and nodded.

"Hermione, you – um – your cat," Sam stammered, attempting to come up with the right word.

"Patronus," Harry said. "It's a lioness." He spoke of it proudly as if it were his own, giving her a nudge. "A true Gryffindor."

Hermione lowered her head, feeling the blush come to her cheeks as she smiled.

"It's awesome," Dean added.

"What's yours, Harry?" Sam asked, squinting through the mesh. "I can't really see -"

"Wait," Hermione said. "Listen."

They all stopped, closely watching the creature inside the cage.

Something like a breath of air continued to stir around them. Hermione kept thinking she heard something with it somehow, but couldn't be sure. The four of them remained silent for a minute and there was a sound coming from inside the cage.

It sounded like a distant voice carried on the wind. There was no depth to it, no shape, but it was calling out.

"Oh my God," Sam said, astonished.

The four of them stared unblinkingly at their captive as they listened intently to the soft rush of air moving past them, holding only one word.

 _please_


	6. Side Effect

The strange group of people gawked at the interior of their homemade prison, uncertain of what they were hearing.

 _please_

Harry was the first to recover. "Dementors do not speak," he said flatly.

Dean slowly turned his head to look at him in disbelief. He wordlessly pointed at the cage.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked.

"No," Hermione spoke up first.

She tapped two fingers to her lips as she thought. Her mind rushed through anything she might have read or seen that would support what they heard. There was nothing.

"We can't be sure," she said, her logic taking over. "Every time someone comes close enough to one, they don't sit down with it and have a chat, do they?"

All three men shook their heads simultaneously.

"And we've seen that they can understand us when we speak," Hermione reasoned. "So …" Hermione shrugged and mimicked Dean, silently gesturing to the cage.

 _please_

Nobody suggested what they should do next because nobody believed they'd make it this far. Hermione continued to watch the stiff, cloaked figure while Harry's patronus continued its slow pace around the perimeter of the cage. It's light shining brightly on one of the darkest creatures to walk the earth.

It was pleading – begging. Begging for what? Usually dementors fled from a patronus. This one was being forced to stay in close proximity to one.

Without taking her eyes away from the cage, Hermione placed her hand on Harry's arm. "Your patronus, Harry. Bring it out here with mine."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Harry said.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, silently daring him to reference a time when she had a bad idea. "It'll be all right. The cage will hold it."

With a large sweep of his wand, Harry's patronus leaped outside of the cage, moving through the mesh, and joined Hermione's lioness.

The light inside was still bright, but the dementor moved for the first time since it was imprisoned. It approached them. Sam and Dean stepped back, but the creature never touched the fence. It came close and released a soft, high-pitched cry that seemed to move around them like a small storm, and retreated into the center of the cage.

 _the light_

The voice came faintly to them again.

 _why_

"You hurt us," Hermione replied quietly. "You kill us. You take away people that we love. We have to try and stop you."

 _your light – we escape it_

The dementor paused as if it were breathing between each phrase, which came out gradually, quietly.

"But that's not enough to stop you," Harry said firmly.

 _cannot kill_

 _never live_

 _do not die_

"You can't be killed?" Sam asked.

 _do not die_

 _never live_

"Okay, okay," Dean said, taking a step back and jerking his head so the others would follow.

They came close together, forming a tight circle. Hermione, being the shortest, felt a little claustrophobic.

"They've never lived, so they do not die," Dean translated, his face stone serious. He looked in between Harry and Hermione. "Do you guys know where these things came from in the first place? Did they just suddenly appear out of nowhere?"

Hermione exchanged a glance with Harry and they both shrugged.

"They've just always been here," she said helplessly. "I've never come across anything that explained where dementors came from. I don't think anyone really knows. Anyone who did know would be dead and gone by now."

"And no one would purposefully try to study them for obvious reasons," Harry added.

The little circle went quiet while four pairs of eyes flicked quickly to one another in turn, desperate for any ideas.

"Well," Sam said, scratching his head. "We have a chance to find out. I say we talk to it." He looked over their heads, the light of the cage reflecting in his eyes.

"Or I could shoot it," Dean hissed.

"No!" the other three protested. Sam back-handed Dean in the shoulder.

"Just as an experiment," he said, trying to sound reasonable as they moved back to the cage.

"You were probably right, H."

"About what?"

Hermione kept her smile to herself. She had the tendency to be right. Harry and Ron had gotten used to it by their seventh year at Hogwarts. The worst part, however, was that odds were that she'd be wrong eventually. It was bound to happen, and that slightly terrified her.

Dean touched her shoulder and she looked up at him. "Sam and me, we've always done things this way. If you don't know how to kill it, trap it. Then you figure it out from there. But this thing … I'm feeling a little at a loss."

Hermione understood. Again, there was that impulse to reach to him, to comfort him, but she resisted. "So am I, Dean," she said. "We might have to accept that while our plan worked, there still may not be a solution to the problem."

Dean chewed his tongue for a moment. "That just pisses me off."

Hermione laughed. "Me too."

They joined Sam and Harry while Sam was trying to speak to it.

"Can you tell us where you – where your kind came from?"

The dementor moved a little as though it were considering Sam's question.

 _you_

The single word rushed past their ears, and Hermione stepped forward.

"We don't understand," she said. "You came from us?"

 _majicks_

 _we are_

 _of you_

The dementors words were coming to them slower and slower. Perhaps the spell on the cage was weakening it.

"Majicks?" Harry asked, confused, looking at the rest of the group.

"Us, Harry," Hermione said. "I believe it means witches and wizards."

"How?"

 _the light_

 _please_

Despite all the dementors were responsible for; all the pain they'd cause her, Hermione discovered herself beginning to pity the creature trapped inside their cell.

"If we weaken the spell, it could escape," Harry whispered to her, already aware of what she was thinking.

"What do you mean, you are of us? Did wizards – did majicks create you?" she asked.

"That's insane," Sam said.

Hermione had to agree. Why would wizards purposefully create such dangerous creatures? It couldn't have been just to guard Azkaban. There were other ways to prevent prisoners from escaping.

 _cast off_

 _discarded_

"They left you?" Harry asked.

They waited patiently for the creature to speak again. The pauses in between words and phrases were becoming longer.

 _majicks_

 _prisoners_

 _anger, hatred_

 _sorrow_

 _we are_

 _what they left_

 _behind_

Something clicked in Hermione's brain. Having come from a muggle background, she had sought out anything she could find on wizarding history while she was at school. It always fascinated her that wizards had been around basically since the beginning of human civilization. And for centuries, they managed to remain hidden from the rest of the world.

What seemed like ages ago, there was a lesson in her History of Magic class. Through the droning of Professor Binns, she had heard a bit of information that captured her interest. It was about the prison, Azkaban in early wizarding history. But, there wasn't much detail in her textbook. So, like she normally would, she went to the library to research it further.

"The prisoners in Azkaban," she said, her voice beginning to shake. "You came from them."

 _yes_

 _cast off_

"My God," she whispered, her dark eyes widening. "You are a part of them."

 _yes_

"What does it mean?" Dean asked.

Hermione ignored him. She had to be absolutely sure. "You are their darkness," she said to the dementor.

 _we are_

The dementor moved again, producing a hand from the folds of its cloak. It was thin with scabbed, rotted skin stretched over bone. It reached out to her, opening its hand, beckoning.

Hermione lurched back from the cage, a violent shiver moving through her body. Covering her face in her hands, she released a sob that she wasn't prepared for. It came from nowhere, a rush of sadness, like a great wave moving over her. But, it faded as fast as it came. Even through the cage, the dementor was able to reach her just a little. And it was enough.

Her three companions rushed to her. She was surrounded by them, asking if she was all right.

"Hey, hey," a gentle voice reached her, and a comforting weight rested on her shoulders. "It's all right. You're okay."

Hermione removed her hands, and through the moisture in her eyes she saw Dean's concerned face on level with hers. He studied her closely, cupping her face in his hand, his thumb brushing her tears away.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Sam asked. "Your patronus disappeared."

"Give her a minute, Sam," Dean said. Straightening up, he took his hands away as Harry put his arm around her.

"No, I'm all right. I'm sorry. It was able to reach me, just for a moment."

Harry waved his wand and his patronus moved through to the interior of the cage, taking on its patrol around the perimeter once again.

Hermione took a breath and rubbed her eyes. "I know what they are."

Her eyes fell upon the creature, now standing still in the center of the cage. It seemed to return her gaze from the complete blackness beneath the hood. She could almost feel it reaching out to her; the invisible tendrils of endless shadow pushing through the mesh toward her.

"Hermione."

She started, and turned quickly to see her friends looking anxiously back at her.

"I'm all right, really," she tried to reassure them and cleared her throat while she struggled to find a way to explain what she knew.

"They are old - hundreds and hundreds of years old, possibly thousands. They are the darkness that's been cast off from wizards."

A very long time ago, when Azkaban was new, and the records of the world were written upon parchment scrolls rather than pages in a book, there were wizards and witches who rejoiced in the idea of a permanent wizard prison. After so many escapes from other attempts, the architecture and isolation of Azkaban seemed ideal for its purposes.

Others, however, tried looking beyond the danger and the criminal. What if there was a way to perpetually rehabilitate these wizards and witches, so that they'd never so much as consider committing a crime ever again?

A series of spells were crafted, and an attempt was made. Hundreds of people due for sentences in Azkaban, long or short, agreed to the treatment. With the alternative being a prison sentence, it was the preferable option.

In short, the magic worked. The soon-to-be prisoners had their darkness cast off from them. They became, before everyone's eyes, positive, honest, and hopeful people. There was no longer a need to imprison them.

What was not known by Hermione's time was that it was only after the first attacks that the wizards realized what they'd done, what they had created. The darkness from the souls of those people had taken form, and began to walk the earth, feeding off of the souls of others. It was hateful, filled with despair and a demented madness that overcame its victims.

Dementors do not bring the dark, they are the dark.

"There were long-term effects on the subjects too," Hermione continued to explain to her now dumbfounded companions. "They all went mad eventually because, although it was their darkness, if you will, it was still a part of them that was taken away. Officially, that's why they never tried it again. We all have dark and light within us. We cannot live without one or the other, I suppose."

"You already knew all this?" Harry asked.

"Of course not," Hermione rolled her eyes. "I only knew about the prisoners, and that took some digging. There is no record anywhere about the dementors coming from them. It fits, though. Think about it, a patronus is pure light and happiness, the complete opposite of what they are," Hermoine pointed to the cage. "That's why it drives them away."

 _we are_

 _a side effect_

 _an accident_

Hermione nodded in agreement. "A terrible accident."

"The road to hell," Dean said with a sigh.

Without Hermione's patronus outside the cage, the night seemed to press in against their backs. Hermione felt a chill and associated it with the horrible truth they'd just uncovered at first. But there was more to it than that.

The dark of night was palpable, almost like a physical force, pushing at them.

 _hell_

The dementor spoke again as Hermione's fingers began to tremble from the cold around them.

 _you do not_

 _know_

 _hell_

The dementor's words echoed around them in a never ending round from all sides; the same five words over, and over again.

 _you do not know hell_

They overlapped each other and grew louder.

"What is happening?" Harry shouted anxiously.

"They're everywhere!"

Dean said it at the same time Hermione realized. The warehouse was surrounded by dementors, all chanting the words as they moved in on them.

 _you do not know hell_

The four of them backed toward the cage until they could feel the warmth from it. Hermione and Harry drew their wands. Dean grabbed his cricket bat in one hand and a hand gun in the other, while Sam held up the metal pipe.

Hermione risked a glance behind her, and saw the light in the cage dim as the dementors closed in. Like a dying flame, the light around the cage faded until it flickered one last bit of light and went out, cloaking the warehouse in black.

" _Expecto patronum!"_ Harry bellowed next to her.

His weakening patronus brightened and stood in front of the four of them as a loyal guard. But, it wasn't enough against the sheer number of dementors coming inside.

Hermione spoke the spell over and over again, trying to bring her patronus back, but her panicked mind was too cluttered causing her wand to produce only little white wisps. All she could think of was Ron and how he must have felt just before it happened.

She backed into the now ordinary cage, trying to breathe. She raised her wand again and pointed it at Harry's patronus. " _Vinculi patronum vinculi,_ " she said aloud.

Harry's patronus brightened until it was nearly blinding. It shined like a white star in front of them. The light and the heat from it kept the dementors at bay for the moment until an ice cold touch went around Hermione's wrist, and throat.

 _your soul_

 _is beautiful_

The dementor inside the cage held her tightly against the mesh, its thin hands were apparently able to fit through.

Hermione screamed as images of Ron entered her head. She hadn't been with him, yet she saw him being attacked and his soul pulled out of his body as if the memory was her own.

The protective light died as Harry and the Winchesters made for her, but were soon surrounded by other dementors. Dean's gun went off two or three times while the men tried to fight them off.

They were the dark. It was all she could see and all she could hear. Their strange, wraithlike voices, now felt like the pounding of drums in her ears.

 _hell – hell - hell_

The cold grip around her never lifted, but somehow, the creature suddenly towered over her, its hands on either side of her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She whimpered, watching Ron destroyed over and over again.

Then, through all of that blackness, something beautiful drifted across her vision. Hermione looked past her tormentor. Above them floated a lovely white bird, its call sounding overhead. Its cry pierced the night just as the pure, glowing white, pierced Hermione's eyes, like a thin beam of sunlight cutting through a storm cloud. The bird circled above as the dementor lowered its head toward her.

"Tonks," Hermione whispered, hope resonating in her voice.

Her eyes followed Tonks' path through the warehouse, until all she could see was the darkness in front of her. She closed her eyes, when a light penetrated her eyelids, staining them red.

Left unexpectedly on her own, Hermione collapsed to the concrete floor.

The darkness was no more.


	7. Remember

Her headache was massive. She seriously considered asking Dean to give her a whack with that cricket bat just so she could fall into blissful unconsciousness again.

Dean.

Harry, and Sam – were they all right?

Hermione couldn't force her eyes open for a moment, and therefore she wasn't quite sure where she was. She wasn't sure until what was once muffled background noise, came through clearly as an argument.

"… told me that you were working on a few _theories_ with Hermione!" That was unmistakably Ginny's voice. She was livid. "You neglected to mention the fact that you, with the help of American muggles no less, set up a trap for one of them, with YOU as the bait!"

Hermione smiled a little as she was waking up. Ginny became more and more her mother with each passing day.

"How _dare_ you do that, after what happened to Ron? How dare you risk yours and Hermione's lives, along with two muggles, on something that you weren't certain would work!"

Now, Hermione really wished she could just drift back to sleep without anyone noticing her. She didn't want to be next on Ginny's warpath.

"You could be arrested merely by performing magic in front of these two!"

The Winchesters must have been there as well, but they were wisely keeping silent.

Figuring there was nothing else for it, Hermione opened her eyes. The intensity of her headache lowered to a simple tympani player thumping against the inside of her skull.

Hermione sat up. She was on a bed that was most definitely not hers. It was a bed in Harry's house.

"Hello, Hermione," said a small, kind voice.

Hermione noticed the woman sitting in a chair next to the bed just as she spoke, and sighed with relief. Somehow, they had survived.

Luna Lovegood looked at her with those large, blue eyes of hers and that simple hint of a smile on her face that she always held in her expression. She stood, her blonde hair falling over her back, and handed a large piece of chocolate to Hermione.

"I was instructed to make sure you eat all of it," she lightly sat down next to her as Hermione took a bite of the chocolate. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, thank you." Hermione wanted to hug her friend right there, she was so delighted that everyone was all right.

"We nearly missed you," Luna said lightly. "That would not have been a very good outcome for anyone."

"No, it wouldn't have," Hermione agreed. "You were there?"

"Of course," Luna's smile brightened just a little. "Ginny was very worried, and asked George and I to help her find you. It was simple, really. All we had to do was follow Harry's owl. She always manages to find him."

"Thank you, Luna. I'm so happy you got to us." Hermione licked her fingers as she finished the chocolate. Her headache was nearly gone.

"So am I," Luna nodded. "That would have been truly terrible."

"Are Dean and Sam still here?" Hermione quickly changed the subject before anything became too morbid.

"The muggles? Yes, they are here. We're not sure what to do with them. They're quite strange."

Hermione blinked at Luna who looked mildly back at her, and smiled gratefully.

"I have half a mind right now to snap your wand in two, myself!" Ginny's ranting tirade was showing no sign of losing steam. She could go on all night if she wanted.

Hermione decided to take some of the heat off of Harry and got to her feet. Feeling a little unsteady, she paused while Luna stood with her and took her arm.

"Hold onto me if you like," she said, and led her out of the bedroom.

She didn't think she needed the physical support, but Hermione ended up leaning upon Luna as they stepped into the front room. Her legs felt like rubber, and her body trembled still.

The first person she saw was George, Ginny's elder brother, who was covering his smirking lips with his hand and avoiding eye contact with anyone in the room. He stood in the corner, leaning against a desk.

The Winchesters, seated comfortably upon a sofa, were staring mesmerized at the tongue lashing Harry was receiving from his wife. Ginny's face was as red as her hair. Hermione could practically see the steam rising off of her head.

Sam and Dean first noticed Hermione slowly enter the room, tearing their eyes away from the drama. Dean was the first up. In two strides he was next to her, taking her other arm, and putting his around her back. Luna released her with a smile, and stood out of the way next to George.

"Hey, how are you doing?" Dean asked her as he brought her to the sofa and sat her down in between him and Sam.

"I'm a little shaky," Hermione admitted.

Dean kept his arm around her, and she leaned against him, grateful that Ginny, Luna, and George hadn't wiped his memory while she'd been asleep. He looked at her, still knowing who she was, with concern in his eyes. Hermione smiled to try and reassure him.

Ginny's hot laser focus upon Harry was also diverted at Hermione's entrance.

"Hermione!"

She rushed over in waves of her fiery hair and embraced her friend. Ginny held tightly onto her.

"That was so stupid, Hermione," she whispered in her ear. "Please don't ever scare me like that again."

Hermione held onto her with as much strength as she could. "I know. I'm sorry."

They pulled apart, and Ginny had tears in her eyes. But she nodded to her friend once and stood, retaining her composure.

"Oi!" Harry pointed angrily at Hermione. "I get the bloody raging volcano, and all she gets is a hug?"

Ginny shot him a look that would have cut glass. "That may be all you get for some time," she said deliberately, carefully giving each word emphasis as she left the room.

Sam inhaled through his teeth and Dean swore under his breath at the veiled threat.

Harry followed his very, very angry wife, leaving three wizards and two muggles in their living room.

Luna spoke up first. "I suppose I'll go now. It is rather late. Will I see you tomorrow, Hermione?"

"Come round for tea and we'll have a talk," Hermione said gratefully.

"That sounds nice," Luna spoke as she waved her wand in the air and disappeared from the room.

"Yeah, I think the show's over," George said, moving out of his corner. "Sad. I was really enjoying it. Makes me all nostalgic, all that yelling." He sniffed and blinked rapidly.

"Thank you, George," Hermione said.

"You're still my sister, you know," he winked at her. "Mum's waiting for some news, so I need to prepare my report."

"Hey, man, thanks a lot." Sam offered his hand and George took it in a shake with a smile that looked more confused than contented.

"You blokes stay out of trouble next time, right?" His eyes flicked to Hermione before he apparated.

A rush of guilt moved through her chest. Dean's arm was still protectively around her. She liked when he was close to her; when he joked with her. She liked both of them. But, she already knew what George was most likely telling her with that look: They shouldn't even be there.

Harry came back in, his head lowered and hands in his pockets. Hermione would have bet right then that he would rather face another herd of dementors than his raging wife.

"She's cooling off," he responded to their questioning looks.

"She's right, Harry," Hermione said, leaning back on the sofa, Dean's arm in the curve of her neck.

"Not exactly," Sam disagreed. "We did something wizards have never done before, right? We were able to trap and hold a dementor."

"And speak to it," Dean added.

"That's got to count for something."

Harry ruffled a hand through his already electrified hair. "I suppose it does. If we keep working on the spell Hermione came up with, maybe we could trap them and move them somewhere else, or set up defenses around the city somehow."

"I don't think Ginny will let you be a part of 'we' for a while," Hermione said.

Both Winchesters avoided eye contact with Harry while they suppressed their laughter.

"Nor you, I'd imagine," Harry said as he sat down on the coffee table in front of them.

It was true. Ginny would tie them both up and sit on them before she'd allow any more "theories" to be tested. As for the Winchesters …

"We should try again," Dean spoke up. "We tried it and it worked! We just need to take more precautions next time."

Hermione knew Harry's eyes were on her, but she couldn't look at him. Their bargain had been fulfilled. Now it was time to end it. He expected as much. It's what needed to happen. No muggle was allowed to freely roam around with intact knowledge of the wizarding world. It was too dangerous. Her logic beat loudly against her emotions and loneliness.

"Hermione, may I speak with you a moment?" Harry said tersely. He stood and walked stiffly out of the room.

She sighed, but felt more stable on her legs when putting her weight on them. Dean stood with her, her ever present guardian it seemed.

"Hey, are you okay?" Sam asked, touching her hand.

"Yes, I'm okay. Be back in a minute." Her fingers brushed lightly over Dean's jacket and he sat down again as she left.

Harry waited for her in the bedroom she'd awoken in. Hermione stepped inside and took her time shutting the door.

"What's in your head?" Harry asked calmly.

"What do you mean?" Hermione played dumb. It was never believable.

Harry rolled his eyes and frowned at her. "You told me I was stating the obvious when I reminded you that we had to erase their memories. Now, I get the distinct impression that you don't want to do that anymore. Am I wrong?" His thick brows lifted with the question.

Hermione sighed and rubbed her tired eyes. "I don't know, Harry. I like them. They're both good men. They're – I like them."

"Hermione," Harry's voice held a sharp edge to it.

"Muggles do find out about us, you know," she said defensively.

"So, what are you saying? Are you planning on marrying him?"

Of course she wasn't. She'd only just met him. In fact, there should be no reason for this absurd hesitation at all! Yet the image of Dean looking at her as a stranger tore at her insides. She couldn't bear the thought of taking away his choice to at least remember her from time to time. But, even as she thought it, she knew that wouldn't be enough, at least for her.

"No," she answered.

Harry took her arm and gently guided her to the bed where he pulled her down next to him. They sat closely together. Harry took off his glasses to rub at a sore spot on the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted as well.

"Listen, I like them too," he said calmly. "They're good blokes the both of them. And if they'd only seen us perform a couple of charms, then _maybe_ we could let them go without any problems. But, with what they've seen –"

"I know," Hermione conceded. "They know where the dementors came from. They've seen experimental magic. They know about Rowling. I know, Harry. Even if we decided not to, the ministry would find them and take care of it themselves."

It wasn't fair. Hermione swallowed hard against the disappointment rising in her chest. She got to her feet, Harry following.

She opened the door and jumped back in surprise at seeing the Winchesters standing just on the other side. She'd had way too many scares within the last few days. It was getting tiresome.

"We – uh – kind of had a feeling on what you guys were talking about in here," Dean said awkwardly while Sam stood behind him, looking over his shoulder. "And we did make a deal. I don't want to go back on that."

"It's settled then," Harry said with some relief.

"I do have a question, though," Dean's eyes fell significantly upon Hermione. "Can I talk to you?"

Harry moved silently past Hermione, and Sam clapped Dean supportively on the shoulder before he left.

Dean stepped inside and shut the door. He kept a short distance in between them. Hermione wasn't sure if she was grateful for that or not.

"Me and Sam know way too much about you guys, and about those things that nearly killed us. So I get why you've got to do what you've got to do. I just wanted to ask," he hesitated, looking down at his feet. "Is there a way you could fix it so I'll still remember you?" He lifted his face to hers as he asked, his expression difficult to read.

This truly wasn't fair. Hermione wanted to curse something. She wanted to blow the roof off of that wretched house. She wanted to scream until her voice gave out while hexing everything in sight.

She and Ron had gotten together so young. They had continued to grow up together in many ways. Now, standing in front of her was a man who looked at her as if she were the only woman he ever needed to see. He was the first man she, as a woman, had really, truly noticed.

She would always love Ron, always. Yet, that simple, innocent question Dean asked made her ache inside with a yearning she hadn't felt in so very long.

All Hermione could do was hope that her composure remained intact. "I'm sorry," she answered. "It's not possible. If you remember me, you remember everything else that happened with me, you see?"

Dean nodded, unable to keep the disappointment from showing on his face. "I'm sorry too."

Hermione looked away from him as he closed the distance in between them, wiping the moisture from her face. "Please don't make this any harder than it already is."

She felt his warmth, breathed his scent, and burned at his touch. Dean gently lifted her face up to his. He brought up his other hand, so he held her on either side, his fingers in her hair.

She looked at him, desperately trying to commit everything to memory – the exact green of his eyes; the curve of his lips; the lines around his eyes and mouth when he smiled. Hermione lifted her hand and placed it over his, her fingers thin and delicate over his strong, weathered ones.

Nothing else was said as Dean leaned down and kissed her. Hermione closed her eyes and lived joyously in that kiss for as long time would allow, holding onto him.

When he broke the spell, Dean pressed his forehead to hers and held tightly onto her hands. "If I can't remember you, I want you to remember me, all right?"

"Yes," she answered softly.

Dean wiped her tears away and held her once more before they decided to leave the room. Sam and Harry were talking in low voices as they walked in and glanced up.

"Hermione, I can do this if you'd rather not," Harry said.

"No, it's fine, Harry. I'll do it. You two should probably sit down. We'll take care of the rest."

Before he did so, Sam approached her and enveloped her in a hug. "It's kind of hard to find," he whispered in her ear, "but there's a series of books called _Supernatural_ by Carver Edlund. I think you'll like them."

He kissed a confused Hermione on the cheek and resumed his position on the sofa. Dean took Hermione's hand and gave it a squeeze before reluctantly letting go and sat down next to Sam.

"Thank you both, for everything," Harry said from behind her.

Hermione approached Sam first. He smiled at her and nodded, rubbing his hands nervously over his thighs.

"You won't feel a thing," she assured him with a sad smile as she pointed her wand. "I'm glad to have met you, Sam."

" _Obliviate_."

Sam's eyes lost focus, and his body relaxed as the spell took him over.

"Is that normal?" Dean asked, waving a hand in front of his brother's vacant expression.

"Perfectly," Harry said.

Hermione moved in front of Dean, who straightened up in his seat, looking into her eyes as she pointed her wand.

They had already said goodbye in a way. She couldn't bring herself to say anymore. Dean didn't speak either. He only winked at her and nodded once.

Hermione straightened her arm when another tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

" _Obliviate_."


	8. Second Chances

Dean glowered out the window at the never ending rain beating on the street below. "Man," he whined. "We can't go on the big Ferris wheel in this."

"It's not a Ferris wheel," Sam called from the bathroom.

"Tell me again why we decided to take our vacation here?"

"You didn't want to go anyplace where they didn't speak English," Sam said as he entered the bedroom, wiping his face on a towel, "and, I think it was also because of the off chance that you'd run into Kate Beckinsale."

"Kate Middleton."

Sam sighed, rolling his eyes. "She's the Duchess of Cambridge, Dean!"

Dean didn't see the royalty thing as an issue in this case. All he knew for certain was that he still had all of his hair, and her current husband did not.

"So?"

"You wouldn't be able to get a look at her from five hundred yards without some guard tackling you to the ground first."

Dean shrugged, his eyes moving back to the window. The layer of water seeping over the glass made it nearly impossible to see outside anymore.

"Kate's not going to be out in this!" he waved his hand at the window.

"Not without an umbrella," Sam joked. "There's a lot to see in the city, Dean. There are dozens of museums –"

Dean felt his breath catch in his chest at the idea. A museum? He could already picture himself collapsing onto a well-polished and expensive marble floor out of sheer boredom.

"Or," Sam continued, seeing Dean's expression. "There's the Tower of London. It's kind of a castle and a fortress all in one. It's got the crown jewels, an armory, and ancient prison cells."

"That sounds better," Dean said with some relief as he put on his coat. "Then maybe an Irish pub."

Sam shook his head as they went for the door. "Sure."

* * *

The rain lightened to a soft drizzle when Sam and Dean exited the bus. Due to Sam insisting that he wanted to get a look at the city, they still had a good walk ahead of them in order to reach the Tower.

Dean zipped up his coat and stuffed his hands in his pockets while Sam checked a map on his phone. He headed in what appeared to be a random direction and Dean followed.

The current weather didn't appear to have any impact on the locals. The streets were busy with vehicles and pedestrians, all with their own tasks and agendas for the day. Dean found himself feeling a little lost even though Sam acted like he knew where he was going.

It was strange not to have any job or work pressing on them at the moment. What possessed them to take this vacation anyway? Dean tried to recall, but he couldn't account for it. They never took a _real_ vacation by the standards of your average person. They might take a break for a day or two and go somewhere, but never this far.

While Dean pondered their purpose in being there, his eyes passed over shop windows and passersby without seeing them as Sam led them around.

"Hey, do you remember why we decided to leave the country in the first place?" Dean asked his brother.

Sam shrugged. "I thought we both agreed we needed a break, right?"

"Sam, we always need a break. It's not like we ever get one."

"Yeah, but we've practically been everywhere in the continental U.S," Sam reasoned. "We decided to go somewhere farther, I thought."

Sam was beginning to look as confused as Dean felt while they walked down the street.

"Why didn't we pick Hawaii?"

Dean felt a brush on his arm and shoulder that pushed him a little off balance.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, I wasn't watching."

A woman, moving in front of him, turned to apologize. She spoke with a local accent, and held a red umbrella that fell to one side as she walked backwards and smiled with embarrassment.

"It's okay, not your fault," Dean said, getting a glimpse of her before she turned around, and continued down the street in front of them.

Dean watched her walk quickly, the red umbrella blocking the view of her head and shoulders, until she blended in with the pedestrians ahead of them. He tried to keep track of the red umbrella, but it was eventually obscured by other people.

"Weird," he muttered.

"What's weird?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Dean felt a shudder move through him and hitched his coat collar up around his neck. "I just feel weird. There's something … off. Do you remember what we did yesterday?"

Sam's brow furrowed. "I don't think we did anything yesterday."

"Come on. Nothing?"

"Yeah. Mrs. Happing made us something to eat because you were still feeling sick from the flight the day before. We watched those funky game shows, remember? You loved it, actually. You slept most of the day."

Dean had a vague recollection of something like that. Maybe he'd been sicker than he thought. It was very rare that either of them got sick enough that they would throw in the towel for the day.

But, that could be why he felt things were off. He'd slept most of the day yesterday, so his body must think it missed a day somewhere.

That was some weak-ass logic, but it was all he could come up with at the moment.

They continued on into the heart of the city where modern architecture stood out with shining glass and metal against much older, more detailed works made of stone or bronze. It was a unique look that Dean hadn't noticed about the many other cities he'd visited in his life.

Stopping at a street corner with a handful of other pedestrians, Sam and Dean waited for the light to change. As it did so, a flash of red caught Dean's eye and he jerked his head around in time to see a red umbrella close and slip through a narrow door.

"Hey, hang on," Dean said, craning his neck in order to keep one eye on the door that was now closed.

Reaching the opposite side of the street, Dean grabbed onto Sam's arm and pulled him to the adjacent crosswalk. Sam waved his arm in the direction they were supposed to be going, but allowed Dean to lead him across the street when the signal changed.

"Where are we going?"

"I – uh – I saw something that looked interesting."

"Interesting," Sam repeated skeptically. "You saw something that you thought looked interesting. Dean, there are no strip clubs around here."  
Dean rolled his eyes, but didn't reply to Sam's bait as he led them to another corner, and down the walk a few paces until he stood in front of the door.

Sam caught up with him and looked at the sign above them.

"It's a book store," Sam said suspiciously.

Dean glanced at the sign which read "Little Worms Rare and Used Books" in faded, capital letters. It was a narrow space that Dean never would have noticed otherwise.

"So?"

"Okay. Along with everything you were saying before, you knowingly and willingly setting foot into a bookstore is the weirdest thing that's happened all week."

Dean chewed his tongue and knew Sam was right. When it came to entertainment, he was much more of a movie person. Most good books were made into movies or television shows anyway. Dean figured it wasn't worth the effort to do both, not when the movie did most of the work for you and no matter what Sam said about the _The Lord of the Rings_ movies.

"Just … come on," Dean said gruffly and marched up to the shop.

He had to duck through the doorway and immediately turned sideways so he could fit through the ridiculously tight aisles of dusty volumes.

Crouching a little, Sam followed him in and instantly wandered off on his own, squeezing into an aisle that caught his interest.

Walking along the perimeter of the store, Dean peered down the long rows of books until he caught sight of the now rolled up red umbrella which hung from the arm of the same woman who bumped into him earlier.

She stood alone, her dark brown eyes reading each spine carefully before moving to the next one. Dean watched her with a fascination he didn't quite understand as a loose piece of hair fell from the clip at the nape of her neck, brushing at her smooth cheek.

The woman absently pushed it away with a slender finger, when Dean noticed two books she held in her hand. The covers were tattered and worn, but the titles were still legible and caused Dean to move toward her, swallowing back his panic.

Clearing his throat to gain her attention, he pointed to the books she held once he'd caught her eye. "Uh – are you planning on getting those?"

She smiled a little which made his brain malfunction to the point that he'd forgotten what he was talking about.

"I was, yes," she said in an almost musical voice made even more so by her English accent.

"I just wanted to warn you. That writer, Carver Edlund, he's not very good."

Her eyebrows lifted in curious amusement. "Oh? These were highly recommended by a friend of mine."

"It was probably a prank," Dean said quickly, making her laugh.

"Good God!"

The pair of them started at the loud exclamation coming from the next aisle over.

"Hermione, look at this!" A male voice preceded its owner as he came around a corner and shoved an open book under the woman's nose.

"Since when was Cedric ever nice to me?" he said haughtily, pointing at a passage in the thick volume. "That drunken bastard."

"Your name is Hermione?" Dean asked, trying to ignore the bespectacled man with disobedient dark hair.

Hermione nodded, elbowing the man in his ribs. "Yes, this is my friend – er – James."

"Dean," Dean said, extending his hand.

Hermione took it and smiled that captivating smile of hers again. "Dean," she said as though trying it out for size. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Will you give me a chance to talk you out of getting those books?" Dean asked.

"Oh, I don't think that's possible," she said, gripping onto the novels as though they were something precious to her. "But, I'll give you the chance anyway."

Dean smiled with some relief while taking notice of James' silent retreat back into the next aisle.

"Hermione," Dean said again.

It sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it. The name was unique but a pain in the ass to say. Dean preferred simpler names, typically containing two syllables at the most.

"Do you mind if I call you H?" he asked.

"Not at all," she replied.

Hermione looked at him with a warmth in her eyes that he didn't expect, especially from someone he'd just met. It was as if she already knew him and had been waiting for him in that little bookstore. But what were the odds of that happening? Dean was sure he never would have forgotten meeting someone like her before.

* * *

Note:  
Sorry it took me so long to get this last chapter up. I was distracted by other writing projects.

Thanks so much for reading! This was a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoyed it. :)


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